Stories of Talmei Yosef 2

סיפורים מתלמי יוסף 2

I.

Ori is the man in charge of housing, feeding, and putting to work the volunteers for six farms on the Moshav. He's 20, but the authority adds a few years to his demeanor.

The day I arrived I ate dinner with him and other volunteers and workers. He started telling stories about volunteers that had passed through the Moshav before - a mix of good and bad. He stopped telling one in the middle to announce, incredulous, that he had just received a 3-minute long WhatsApp voice message from a German woman who had been at Talmei Yosef volunteering in the tomato greenhouses that day. It was in English, filled with unnecessary apologies and irrelevant information, and he seemed completely at a loss as to how to respond. (The table of Israeli youths did not offer good advice.)

I started saying something about what I thought she might have wanted to hear in response, but before I could finish he handed me his phone and told me to write whatever I thought was appropriate, which I did. Ori had me read the message to the table; the English speakers among them voiced approval. (I said it was fine that the Germans had to leave early, expressed appreciation for their help, some nice words about what it meant for Israelis to see foreign volunteers and such). Impressed, Ori invited me to stay through March, which was met with more approval.

II.

Down the street from where I'm living is a flower nursery that belongs to an elderly couple named Shmulik and Tamar. I spent a few evenings sitting in their warehouse with them and their volunteers, among whom were a group of secular Jews from France and some Daati Leumi teenagers and young adults from Ariel (they were very polite whenever they had to refuse cooked food from the French, who never figured out that they were not going to accept it). Yona, one of the volunteers from Ariel, half-jokingly insisted that they weren't settlers, the proper term was חלוצים: pioneers.

One of the girls from Ariel was named Sima, and while I was helping another one of the girls with her differential equations homework (she's finished her year of national service and is now studying electrical engineering), I could tell that Sima had a bit of a crush on Yona. She was always the most emotive and concerned when he told adolescent stories about risky choices he's made or talked about his upcoming army service. Yona isn't currently rated for combat because of an old injury. He's trying to change that "in time for Lebanon."

I'm not sure if Yona feels anything in return for Sima, or is even aware that her worrying might signal feelings deeper than friendship. I'm not sure it would change anything with respect to his need to prove himself in combat.

III.

The passionfruit farmer is named Daniel. A few days ago his mother moved back in to her home that she had evacuated after the seventh. The volunteers that had been living in her apartment spent a few hours packing their things and giving her home a deep clean, including the patio furniture.

The tractor sometimes drives past her door as it leaves the warehouse with a wagon loaded with shears, gloves, volunteers, Thais, and empty crates. This morning we paused for a few minutes while the Thai workers did something they didn't want our help with (still not sure what it was exactly) and her dog ran out barking at us until she called to it in an Alabama drawl.

We spoke a bit; I introduced myself and welcomed her back home. She apologized for the barking and explained that he "doesn't let her out of his sight" lately.

When work was over I went back to the house I'm sharing with other volunteers; a house still empty of its true occupants; still full of their belongings, photographs, and memories. My bed is in the home's bomb shelter, where a family must have hid for hours on October 7, and countless other times over the years. There are two twin beds, the walls are decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars, and stuffed animals sit on the shelves. It's far from the first children's bedroom I've seen that has reinforced concrete walls, but it's the first one where I'm sleeping there and the children haven't been home in months.

IV.

Daniel's wife and children are still evacuated, and an elderly man with the same last name, who I assume was Daniel's father, was killed in his home in Talmei Yosef on October 7.

I typically see Daniel for only a few minutes every day or two, but he always asks how I'm doing and makes sure the volunteers are caring for each other. Iyar, one of the first volunteers to come to the Moshav, is vegetarian, and I share housing with another vegan named Ahava. Daniel buys us comical amounts of tofu. (From her questions, it seems to me like Ahava has never cooked with it before.) Daniel tried to offer me money for the bus once, which I refused.

Daniel's fields are filled with drying husks of passionfruit vines and withered fruits. Sometimes there are piles of fruit rotting on the ground. But there are also healthy vines with large, green passionfruit waiting to be harvested in another week or two, and when you look under the leaves there are clusters of purple orbs, ready to break open and eat off the vine.